


All The Better

by van_helsa124



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Little Red, No Romance, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Sociopath Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, fake/pretend crush, kind of dexter au, the bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/van_helsa124/pseuds/van_helsa124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a problem that he hasn’t really told anyone else about. Well, he would if he could have, but there really is no correct way to out yourself as a serial killer without getting locked up…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Making Of A Name

Stiles has a problem that he hasn’t really told anyone else about. Well, he would if he could have, but there really is no correct way to out yourself as a serial killer without getting locked up…

His first kill had transpired fairly early on, when he was about five. The neighbour’s cat had scratched his hand so he’d hit it with a rock… over and over again until he was covered in its blood. His mother had found him like that, smeared red with gore and leaning over the remains of the battered feline. She’d screamed at him, told him he was bad, and his father had grounded him for a whole month, threatening to put him in jail if he did anything like it again. They’d slowly moved on of course, but neither of his parents looked at him the same for a good while after that incident.  
When the dementia began to take away his mother’s sanity, Stiles didn’t know how to react. He watched his father’s reactions, how his dad showed grief and did his best to mimic those expressions. Usually it didn’t work but, luckily, people took his lack of reaction as a sign of shock or misunderstanding. He was so young after all, how was he supposed to know what was really happening to his mother?  
After a while of sitting beside his mother’s bed he began to grow bored though. He wasn’t allowed back to school; apparently the teachers didn’t think it would be the best place for a boy in his situation. For normal children this was supposed to be traumatic, but Stiles could muster little more than blank-indifference, maybe irritation if he tried hard enough. And his mother wasn’t helping.  
Her state of mind had stripped all motherly instinct she had for him and, as a result, she was beginning to see him for the first time. She saw Stiles as the blank, emotionless slate he really was and was afraid of him.  
At first her fear had excited him, it was new and the rush of power that came with it was all too exhilarating for an eight year old boy, but he soon grew tired of all the strange looks from the nurses. A person can only go around saying that their son wants to kill them for so long before people start to take notice. Stiles was young but the prospect of people finding out about his feelings- or lack of feelings- was terrifying to him. He remembered what had happened after the cat and he knew that if he was found out that it would be somehow worse this time.  
So when his mother drifted off to sleep one night he left the room and, checking that there was no one outside, stole a needle and a bottle of something clear from the nurses’ trolley parked outside. He didn’t know what was in the bottle, looking back it was probably something harmless, but the half a syringe of air was more than enough to do the job.

His father was never the same after his mother died. They’d put her death down to her illness so there hadn’t been an autopsy and no reason for Stiles to be a suspect. He’d gotten away with it. He was eight and he’d already killed his first human. It was more than most killers could boast.  
Things got bot better and worse as he grew. He learnt how to hide himself in a crowd and eventually blended in so well that even his father, the sheriff, couldn’t see behind his mask. Though that didn’t make things any easier, it did help him to understand people a little more. He wasn’t so reliant on guessing and dumb luck when it came to dealing with normal people anymore.  
He spent a lot of his focus on suppressing the itch that had crawled under his skin ever since he’d killed his mother. It was a constant reminder of what he’d done and of just how much he’d liked it. Over the course of a couple of years he’d found ways of relieving it slightly- looking at his dad’s more gory crime scene photos helped, as did trapping and killing smaller forest creatures when he had the chance- but it never went away.

Three years after killing his mother, at the age of 11, Stiles killed again. It wasn’t planned, it had been a spur of the moment thing that his ADHD had driven, but it had happened none the less.  
The day had been bright, too sunny to stay indoors, too hot to stay outside too long. He’d been cycling through the neighbourhood on his new bike when he’d come by a girl about his own age crying in the street. He (somehow, he wasn’t exactly the most charismatic of boys at that age) managed to lure her into the woods with the promise that he’d show her the stream where he caught frogs. She’d come along tearfully, brightening up at the prospect of an adventure and before long she was smiling and chatting away like they’d been friends forever. Stiles wasn’t sure how to react half the time but she didn’t seem to notice.  
When they got to the stream Stiles smiled as he watched her inspect the clear water for a while. Her red hair and hazel eyes kept him transfixed as he observed the girl. He didn’t know what to do with her now he had her. It wasn’t until she turned away from him that something flipped in his brain and he pounced on her, pushing her head under that water of the stream. She struggled but he was bigger and stronger.

It was strange, as the life left her thin limbs, his body seemed to come alive. His heart picked up and the rush of adrenaline left him feeling almost drunk. The itch under his skin was all but gone and with its absence came a strange clarity. Stiles looked around the forest with fresh eyes; he could breathe for the first time since he’d killed his mother.  
He left the body there, a rookie mistake but he didn’t know any better at the time, walking slowly back to his bike and heading home for dinner. They ate in comfortable silence but under Stiles’s skin was an almost electric current that made his heart beat faster and put a smile on his face.

The buzz didn’t last long though. The day after his first kill, his dad got the call that a girl (Lucy Morgan or whatever her name had been, he couldn’t quite remember) had been attacked in the woods. It hadn’t taken long for Stiles’s happy bubble to pop when he realised that there was a chance that he could actually be caught and go to jail. He was too young for jail.  
He’d spent the next two weeks in a panicked state, listening in to all of his father’s phone calls when he could, reading any paper work his dad brought home and even going as far as to watch the news- something no boy should ever have to suffer through in his opinion.  
After a fortnight of no leads with no breaks in the case though, things began to wind down. His father came home every night with a sad expression on his face and a slump in his shoulders. Stiles soon realised that he’d extremely been lucky. The night the body had spent in the water had probably washed away any forensic evidence and the fact that it had apparently rained that night had also helped.  
He’d gotten away with it.

(Present Day)

“Another body’s been uncovered in the woods.” Lydia announced, strolling into their weekly pack meeting on six-inch heels that would have caused most women to run away screaming. How she could even walk on them, never mind strut, was another mystery Stiles couldn’t grasp. “That’s the third body they’ve found this week.”  
“Aw, yes!” Erica whooped excitedly, fist pumping triumphantly.  
“And why is that a good thing again?” asked Jackson as he came through the door just after Lydia, carrying the Chinese food they’d gone out to pick up.  
Erica beamed at him, “Three bodies is the minimum victim count for a serial killer, duh!”  
“I’m gonna ask again,” Jackson said, frowning, “why is that a good thing?”  
Isaac nodded, “Yeah, surely a serial killer would be a bad thing for us. I mean, seriously, who do you think hunters are gonna blame for this?”  
Derek looked up from where he’d been ignoring the bunch of unruly teenagers in his living room. He was about to say something but Allison cut him off, handing him a plate of food. “Unless the deaths are ruled animal attacks we don’t have to worry about much. Hunters don’t usually look into these types of cases because most of the time the killer really is human.” she said with a shrug, “My dad’s already called the morgue and apparently the wounds on the bodies were made with a knife, not claws.”  
“That’s very reassuring.” Stiles muttered sarcastically, speaking for the first time.  
He’d been unusually quiet for most of the pack meeting. The other’s probably just assumed he was apprehensive or something… not that he wasn’t, oh no, having three of the five bodies you stashed in the woods dug up by your dad is a very good excuse for apprehension. But the real reason for his silence was the simple fact that he wasn’t sure that he could comment on the subject without his heartbeat giving something away.

After his first real kill Stiles had buried his next few kills in a secluded part of the forest and it was these five victims that the police were now just starting to uncover. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the last two were brought to light. They were buried just meters apart after all.  
These kills had been different from his first, who’d been left out in the open. Taken a little over six months apart, he’d used these next few victims to perfect his craft before moving onto better prey in towns surrounding Beacon Hills. They were the stepping stones that allowed him to graduate to a level most killers didn’t reach until their twenties or thirties.  
What could he say? He was special… and it helped that his dad’s shift pattern also suited his needs perfectly. At times he could disappear for a day or two and his father would be none the wiser. He killed maybe once every few months now, a little dangerous considering the statistics, but he wasn’t too worried.  
Over the years he’d managed to build up a bit of reputation outside of Beacon Hills for taking red-heads with big brown eyes and happy smiles. Age and gender didn’t really matter to him. Psychologically speaking, he guessed it had something to do with the girl he’d killed at the stream (was it Laura or Leah, he could never remember the name).  
The papers had even given him a nickname after he’d accidentally gotten himself caught on CCTV, leaving a crime scene, with his red hoodie pulled up menacingly to cover his face. 

They called him Little Red.  
He hadn’t realised until after Scott was bitten how appropriate that name would be.

Any of his other bodies being discovered- even though it was impossible for most of them as they were little more than ash- wouldn’t have worried him. But these five were different. They were practically in his backyard. It wouldn’t take a genius to take one look at pics of the victims before they went into the ground, all fiery haired and dark eyed, and think ‘huh, maybe these were Little Red’s early kills? He probably lives in the area’.  
If he hadn’t already, Stiles was sure his dad would link it back to the girl at the stream (had it been Leona, Lenore or Lesly?) and then things would get sticky.


	2. Troubles Of A Teenage Sociopath

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the situation at hand, which it seemed he’d zoned out of. He looked up to see Allison with a plate of food for him which he accepted gratefully even though he didn’t feel as though he could eat anything without throwing up.  
“Are you ok Stiles?” Lydia asked from across the room. “You seem awfully quiet. No insight into the town’s new big bad?”  
Stiles looked round at her. She was watching him with those calculating hazel eyes, so much like the girl at the stream- it was almost like he was looking at the same person. He swallowed dryly as he noticed the room’s attention was on him.   
“I’m just thinking,” he said looking away from her and those familiar eyes, why he hadn’t killed her yet was a mystery. Turning to the rest of the group he cleared his throat, “Have there been any more developments?”  
Jackson frowned, “You’re dad’s the sheriff, I’d have thought you’d know more about this than any of us.”  
Stiles didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily though, Scott was ever his bro and jumped in (unknowingly) to save the day, “Stiles’s dad’s been at the station pretty much constantly for the last few days so he’s been staying at my house.”  
Isaac snorted, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be on my own either.”  
The conversation turned away from him then. He almost sighed with relief when Erica excitedly started babbling about how fun it would be to have an investigation on their doorstep and how it would put Beacon Hills on the map.

When the pack meeting was over he left Derek’s loft and drove around a bit before heading back to Scott’s. His life had gotten much harder since the supernatural had showed up on his doorstep- or rather he’d shown up on Scott’s and said ‘Hey do you wanna help me find a body?’  
He’d taken Scott that night because he needed to know if the body had been one of his and going alone would have made him look suspicious in front of his dad if he was caught.   
The fact that he was caught alone anyway was just terribly bad luck.  
Now it was almost impossible to indulge himself without taking drastic measures. Going to Deaton and asking for a type of wolfsbane that masked the scent of blood would never rank in the top ten moments of Stiles life, and using it ranked even lower on the scale. The plant was sickly smelling and he pretty much had to bathe in it every time he killed for the effects to work.  
Also the fact that the others could hear his heart and that Lydia was a banshee seriously sucked. He had to watch what he said all of the time and the looks he sometimes got from the red head were suspicious at best. He would lay money on the fact that she, on some subconscious level, knew what he was and what he did.

Strolling in through Scott’s front door like he owned the place, Stiles was greeted by Melissa, who gave him a sympathetic look. He barely remembered that he was supposed to play the ‘kid who’d been dumped at a friend’s by his father’, when said friend appeared and dragged him to his room.  
They spent the rest of the night playing video games and eating cold pizza and Stiles fell asleep in the spare room with the itch slowly building under his skin.

The next day at school was almost intolerable. The itching was worse than it had been for almost a year because of all the police activity forcing to postpone his latest kill. The fact that he was also currently staying with his best friend while his dad worked full time on the case didn’t help either.  
He scowled as he made his way to physics, Mr Harris no doubt had something truly despicable lined up for the class. Harris was probably one of the only people in Beacon Hills that could see through Stiles’s mask like it wasn’t even there. It had confused Stiles at first, but he’d soon come to realise that the reason is teacher could see him was because he wasn’t the only one hiding behind a false face. Harris was just as cold and empty as Stiles and, as it turns out, deeply territorial. Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised if Harris had guessed that he was Little Red.

Sliding into his usual desk Stiles turned to find that, where Scott usually was, another boy sat watching him. His jaw almost hit floor as he studied the unfamiliar teen. He’d never seen him around school before but if he had, Stiles was sure the guy wouldn’t have survived long without coming under his knife. He was so perfect. It made Stiles’s mouth water just to look at him.  
The guy’s skin was pale, so pale that his strawberry blond hair stood out like fire against it. His hair was cut short and croppy, sticking out in all directions and down over his eyes which were the colour of polished mahogany.  
As they locked gazes Stiles smiled wide and extended a hand, slipping into his usual ‘ADHD ridden, clumsy, non-threatening teenager’ mask with a little difficulty. Pushing down his plans and thoughts of what he was going to do to the guy was hard, but he managed it, there was time to get excited about this development later.  
“Hey,” he said as the guy shook his hand almost wearily, “I’m Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.”  
The other teen smiled tightly, “Linden Moraine, I’ve just moved here from Beacon Falls.”  
“Welcome to Beacon Hills,” Stiles practically swooned, “I’m sure everybody’s probably told you this, but if you need any help finding your way around just ask. My dad’s the sheriff.”  
Linden smiled politely and nodded, “I might do that.”

Sure enough Harris was as evil as usual and Stiles ended up with detention that afternoon. He made his way happily to lunch, not caring that a part of his day would be stolen from him. Linden’s arrival had left him in a good mood that pretty much every one noticed as soon as he sat down at their table.  
“What’s got you excited?” Erica asked as she took one of her signature bites out of the apple she was holding.  
Stiles shrugged, “The new kid seems kinda cool don’t you think?”  
“There’s a new guy?” Lydia asked in a tone that said she knew exactly who Stiles was talking about but didn’t really care.  
“He was sitting next to me in physics.” Stiles shrugged again, using his hands to emphasise. “He’s an ok guy…”  
Danny, who for some reason was sitting next to Jackson that day, raised one eyebrow- his thoughtfulness loud and clear on his face.  
“Crushing on both of the red-heads you know, Stiles? Better be careful or people will start calling you _Little Red_.” Erica snorted.  
Everyone around the table chuckled at her joke and Stiles couldn’t help but smile. They wouldn’t be laughing if they knew how right they really were. But this was how he got by, his jokes and poorly timed humour kept him from suspicion from even his closest friends. To them he was harmless- the fragile human in a pack of supernaturals.  
None of his friends suspected who he was… maybe Peter did, but Stiles didn’t really class the former alpha as a friend so much as a rival. Peter was always giving Stiles odd looks, like he was expecting him to snap at any second and go round with a gun and kill them all in their sleep. And he looked like he wanted Stiles to do it, like he wanted Stiles to let go of his dark side.  
When Peter had offered him the bite he’d turned it down based on the simple fact that he didn’t want to end up like him. Stiles knew that, as a werewolf, it would be harder to resist the itch under his skin and Stiles had enough trouble controlling his homicidal urges as it was.

“You keep doing that.” Lydia said, bringing him back to reality.  
Stiles blinked, “What?”  
“Zoning out,” she murmured suspiciously, “it’s been happening since they started digging up those bodies in the woods.”  
Of course the banshee would be suspicious of him. It was just Stiles’s luck that one of his best friends happened to be able to hear and sense the dead. For all he knew, he was lit up like a Christmas tree of death right now.  
He sighed and shook his head, delivering the excuse he’d thought up earlier. “It’s just worrying me, my dad’s out there all day looking for more bodies. I mean, what if he finds something that leads to him getting hurt. I won’t be there to protect him,” _because I’d probably be the one holding the knife to my dad’s throat if he got too close_ , Stiles thought bitterly. He may have been a serial killer but that didn’t mean he couldn’t protect what was his, “I’m stuck living at Scott’s because he doesn’t want me to be alone while he’s not there and it’s just stressing me out you know?”  
The table was silent for a moment before Isaac nodded, “That’s heavy, dude.”  
Lydia didn’t seem 100% convinced but she wasn’t as stiff as she was before. With a reasonable explanation she lowered her shoulders and averted her eyes.  
Stiles was going to have to watch her. He knew that there’d be a day when killing her was unavoidable, but he hadn’t planned for it to be so soon. They’d became almost good friends since the supernatural had entered their lives and he really didn’t want to lose that- not because he cared for her exactly, but because she reminded him so much of that girl in the woods (Liz, Lilith, Lois… oh he gave up).

After school, Stiles lay back on his bed in the spare room at Scott’s house and sighed heavily. It felt like his skin was three sizes too small and, no matter how much he tried to ease it with gory pictures on the internet, it wasn’t going away even slightly.  
He rolled over and tried to sleep but found it impossible- he’d left it too long and now he was desperate for any kind of relief. Grabbing his knife from a secret compartment in his bag, Stiles tiptoed past Scott’s room, relieved when he heard faint snoring sounds.  
The house was quiet as he slipped through it and out the front door. He didn’t really know where he was going or what he was going to do but he knew he needed to do something before he fully lost control. Deep down in his gut he had the feeling that things were about to go horribly wrong.


	3. Caught Little Red Handed

Outside in the cool night air though, Stiles felt in his element. He was a hunter, a predator ready to make his next kill. Cloaked in his red hoodie he felt almost invisible and being the sheriff’s son granted him certain privileges, like being able to walk around at night without suspicion. Even in his red hoodie, people didn’t bother to take a second glance as he walked past.   
Just then, Stiles spotted something that almost made his heart leap out of his chest.   
Linden was leaning against a lamp post a bit further down. His red hair practically glowed under the lamplight as he looked at his phone. For a second Stiles was tempted to give into temptation, like he’d originally planned, but something didn’t seem right. This guy was his perfect victim and he was essentially serving himself up on a silver platter. No red-head in his right mind would be out this time of night in Beacon Hills or any of its surrounding towns.  
Stiles carefully scanned the street as his path brought him slowly nearer, and there, in the reflection across the street he saw what he’d been looking for. He half-smiled-half-grimaced and changed his gait slightly, making his footing heavier and alerting the other teen to his presence.

Linden looked up at his arrival and the flash of fear in his eyes was unmistakeable. Stiles was just so tempted… but no, he pulled his hood down to reveal his identity and approached normally, as he would any of his friends.  
“Hey,” he said with a smile, “You’re Linden right? We have physics together?”  
The other teen eyed him for a moment before nodding, “And you’re Stiles.”  
“That’s me,” Stiles subtly observed the reflection across the street again, “So how was your first day of school? You said you had gym straight after physics right? I know coach can be a bit hard on new guys sometimes.”  
Linden tried to quickly glance over Stiles's shoulder, like he was expecting someone. "Uh, coach was fine. He says he wants me on the lacrosse team."  
"That's great!" Stiles beamed, not even attempting to hide a pleased grin when his imagination supplied images of the red-head in a Beacon Hills jersey. "My friend Scott and I are on the team already... well I warm the bench, but he's the team captain."  
That seemed to amuse the Linden; he smiled properly for the first time. It was like the sun coming out. "The bench warmer and the team captain, that's an unusual friendship."  
Stiles shrugged, "We've been friends since kindergarten, that kinda bond just can't be broken. I mean I'm living in his spare room at the moment, so yeah, you could say we're close."  
"If you're living with him than what are you doing out so late?" Linden asked as if he was just realising that it was 3am.  
Stiles shrugged again, "Just trying to let out some stress, you know?"  
The other teen shifted from one foot to the other, re-noticing Stiles's red hoodie, "Stress?"  
Stiles nodded as if he was oblivious to Linden's discomfort. "Yeah dude, stress. My dad's the sheriff and I haven't seen him in nearly a week because he's out there hunting some _maniac_. I mean, his job his hard on a good day but with all this going on and the fact that I can't be there when he needs me..."  
Linden's posture softened again almost immediately. "So, let me get this straight, because you're worried about your dad's health, you're walking around town at night when there's a killer on the loose?"  
The plan of 'make this guy think I'm as harmless as a butterfly' appeared to be working better than Stiles expected and now Linden was beginning to show a small amount fondness for him. It wasn't something he'd expected, and it was only very slight, barely noticeable, but Stiles was still fairly pleased with the development.  
He shook his head, "My ADHD can make it hard for me to stop myself from doing things sometimes. I thought about taking a walk, and here I am. Besides, my dad doesn't know I'm out so I think I'm in the clear."  
Linden smirked and looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he simply glanced round at the deserted street. "My ride will probably be here soon, so you'd best be off."  
Stiles nodded, "I was going to ask what you were doing out so late but I guess we got a little side tracked... I'll see you tomorrow then?"  
The other teen nodded, "See you around, Stiles."

“What’s up, pops?” Stiles asked as he came up to the window of the undercover cop car parked just around the corner. He’d seen its reflection, but hadn’t been sure until he’d turned into the ally it was parked in. Now he was glad he’d been cautious talking to Linden. “Nice night to be out, huh?”  
His father watched him approach with tired eyes- eyes that came from years of your teenage son interfering in your cases and messing everything up whenever you tried to get any work done. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he would have said that his dad looked almost sad to see him, which didn’t make any sense, since they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a week. He fought the frown that was threatening to show. He knew how his father acted, and this wasn’t it.  
“Stiles,” his dad greeted him with a sigh, “I thought I told you to stay inside after dark.”  
“Well… I thought I told you to make sure you got enough sleep while I was gone.” Stiles countered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest like a teenager who’d been caught stealing cookies. “And don’t act like those burger wrappers are invisible.”  
The sheriff did look a little guilty as he looked at the trash strewn in his footwall, but his face quickly hardened, “What are you doing here Stiles?”  
Stiles let his eyes nervously run over the dashboard, where a small monitor had been mounted. On the screen played live CCTV footage of the street where Linden still stood under the lamppost. There was a tiny speaker set up next to it, and he would have bet any money that the other teen had a mike strapped to his chest, transmitting and recording their conversation. His father had heard every word. Good.  
Stiles licked his lips. His dad knew he knew what this equipment was for. Grimacing, he rubbed one hand through his hair, it was the fake tell he’d set up so that his father could associate the movement with guilt.   
“You just heard what I told Linden didn’t you?” he asked tensely, as if he wasn’t sure.  
His dad nodded, “Every word.”  
“I, uh,” Stiles said like the awkward teenage boy he was supposed to be, but steeled himself after a second so his father would know that he was telling the truth, “I meant it. It makes me nervous when I can’t be around to protect you.”  
The sheriff’s face softened slightly. “That’s not your job Stiles, we’ve been over this, and besides I’m not alone.” he said, motioning to the tall man in the passenger seat, “We’re both grown men, Stiles, I’m sure we can take care of each other just fine.”

Stiles looked over at the FBI agent sitting next to his father and wondered idly if Scott knew that Rafe was back in town… Judging from Scott’s lack of rants about his father, Stiles figured that his best friend didn’t know. He knew how vocal Scott could be about anything that inconvenienced him and agent McCall usually fell into that category.  
“Hey, agent McCall,” he greeted cheerfully, “here to try and get my dad fired again? Or are you just going to close his case for him, catch the killer and leave?”  
Rafe gave Stiles an icy look. The expression was one that he’d only seen on the agent’s face twice when he was a kid, and both times it had been directed at whoever happened to be cuffed in front of him. It was cold, calculating and suspicious- the type of look you gave someone when you were trying to figure out what’s going on inside their mind- and it disappeared as soon as it appeared.  
It wasn’t a good sign. It was enough to tell Stiles that the agent was suspicious of him.   
“Hopefully the second one.” Rafe said in a steely voice, eyeing Stiles’s hoodie.  
Yep, he was screwed.

After scolding his dad again for eating junk food and giving the pair in the car an awkward goodbye, Stiles left the ally and walked all of about a hundred feet before ducking into another ally and leaning against the wall. His skin felt like it was ready to start crawling away at its own accord and his heart was pumping erratically. It wasn’t quite a panic attack, but it was close.

He’d left it too late. He hadn’t killed in so long and now the withdrawal was making him sloppy. What was he even doing? He’d actually walked into his father’s trap, barely managing to contain himself enough to make it out without getting arrested, and now he was slouched over in an ally. If agent McCall had given into the temptation to search him, which Stiles knew he was barely supressing, Stiles would probably be sitting in the back of the police car that very second.   
He’d left Scott’s house with nothing but his phone and his knife. What had he even been planning to do? He didn’t have any gloves, a bag or his car… none of the things he needed to actually get away with murder.  
And yeah, Stiles knew he was building on a rocky slope to begin with. One dumped child’s body that had been discovered the next day, five more buried in the woods… _a type_ … geez the more he thought about the mistakes he’d made, the more he wanted to cringe. Most serial killers start out with prostitutes or homeless people, those who won’t be missed, but Stiles had jumped right in at the deep end.  
His type was another problem. He knew that the most successful killers usually avoided types because they lead to patterns and patterns lead to being caught. His father’s status could only hide him so much before the walls came crumbling down.

Stiles was now only just realising how close he might be to being caught. It all depended on how much McCall had figured out…  
Not long after Scott had been bitten, Stiles had stolen one of the audio listening devices from the station and planted it in his dad’s car. His hands shook slightly with dread as he brought up the program on his phone and put in his earphones.  
At first there was silence but then Stiles heard agent McCall sigh heavily. “Are you sure you’re right about this, John? He’s your son and he doesn’t exactly fit the profile.”  
Wait…  
“I’m sure it’s him. There’s just too much evidence to dismiss.” His father’s reply sent an unexpected tremor through him. Stiles had thought it was McCall that was onto him, not his dad. He had a white-knuckle grip on his phone as he listened for the rest of what his father way saying. “There’s also Miss Martin’s testimony…”  
Oh god, Lydia was testifying against him? He felt sick at the prospect. It made sense that she would go to the police, but Stiles still couldn’t bring himself to process it properly. She’d probably heard something incriminating in one of her banshee-power-induced-dazes and made up a story about being there when he’d taken that particular victim.  
In his ear buds agent McCall spoke again, “Yeah, there’s that. And I guess the rest of the evidence is pretty compelling too,” he sighed, “you’re sure those scrapbooks were his?”  
Stiles groaned outload. He kept his scrapbooks behind a hidden panel in his closet, they contained drawings of his victims as well as news clippings that followed the ‘Little Red’ story and various other killers that were active in the northern hemisphere. If his dad had those than it was probably just a matter of signing his arrest warrant and…  
“They weren’t _planted_ , if that’s what you’re saying. I’m just hoping that he won’t get tipped off and flee before the DNA results come back. If that happens I don’t know what I’d do.” The sheriff sounded tired and Stiles knew that the only thing keeping his dad from falling into a bottle of whisky was the fact that he couldn’t mess up this case.   
Stiles was surprised McCall had allowed his dad to stay on the case in the first place, given the amount of grief personal involvement with the accused could have in trial.  
Agent McCall paused for a second, “We have enough evidence to arrest him tonight or tomorrow…”  
Stiles could almost hear his dad shaking his head, “Stiles is too clever for that, if we bring him in without all of the evidence already collected, he’ll close up and we’ll never learn what he did with the rest of the bodies. There weren’t any more than five buried at that site in the woods so I’m guessing he changed his methods of disposal.”  
“I’ll trust your judgement,” McCall said after another pause, “Why don’t you tell Mr Moraine that he can head home now? Stiles is probably on his way back to Melissa’s right now and it’s almost dawn.”

When Stiles heard that he froze, the muscle spasms ceasing instantly. He probably had one, maybe two, days of freedom left before the lab results came back, and that meant he didn’t have much time.  
If he wanted to kill Linden then it would have to be that night. It wouldn’t be hard. From the sound of it, Linden was walking home- alone and in the dark.  
Slipping his knife into his sleeve, Stiles doubled round and came up in an ally not far from where he’d been talking to Linden not half an hour before. He observed the empty street for a moment, taking in the night. True to agent McCall’s words, dawn was already on the horizon. The sky was begging to turn grey in the distance and birds were starting to come to life in the trees.  
It was only a few seconds before he saw the shape of Linden slowly approaching from the left. The other teen was staring so intently at his phone that Stiles barely had to hide as he came closer. It was so tempting to shout ‘boo!’ and startle the guy half to death but Stiles didn’t really want to do anything by halves.

When he was sure it was the opportune moment, Stiles reached out from the shade and pulled Linden into the alleyway with him. The other teen didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late but that didn’t stop the guy from letting out a quick ‘ _Sti…!_ ’ before Stiles could wrap a hand around his mouth.  
Since he had to do this quickly, Stiles simply chose to drag his knife across Linden’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere, but as Stiles was standing behind the guy it didn’t matter too much. The only parts of him that got bloody were his hands. It was ironic in a weird kind of way.


	4. One Plan To End Them All

The relief that surged through him as he felt Linden’s body go limp in his arms was so blissful that Stiles wanted nothing more than to simply slink back to Scott’s house and sleep for a week. But he knew he couldn’t do that because with relief came clarity.  
Stiles let the body slip to the floor, careful to avoid getting blood on his shoes, and stepped back. He couldn’t move Linden now he’d killed him, not without his car. Hauling a body around would leave more evidence than Stiles really wanted with his arrest warrant looming in the not so distant future, so he decided to leave it there. It was something he hadn’t done since the girl in the woods.  
It wasn’t like he needed to care about being caught now… or did he?

Just as he was about to walk away his dad’s cruiser pulled up to the entrance of the alley. He turned and sprinted away from the scene as fast as he could, very aware that Agent McCall had longer legs than him and considerably more training.  
For brief moment Stiles thought that he could feel the agent’s fingers on the back of his neck, but the extra adrenalin pumping through his blood allowed him to pull away and put some distance between them. It was a terrifying and exhausting few minutes.  
In the end though, Stiles knew the area better. He vaulted a gate and slipped onto somebody’s back porch. Not stopping to check whether or not he’d been followed, he skidded from yard to yard, street to street, until he was slipping into Scott’s house as silently as he could.  
Stiles had had his hood up, so they couldn’t say that they’d seen his face but literally getting caught red-handed wasn’t something on Stiles’s wish list either. He only hoped that this didn’t speed up their arrest schedule. He needed at least a day to execute the backup plan he’d made in case he was ever discovered.

When he reached his room, Stiles went straight for his bag and used his teeth to open it. If he touched anything than he’d have to bleach or burn it and he was particularly fond of his blue backpack. From the bag he managed to pull out his masking-wolfsbane and hurried to the bathroom.   
Once inside Stiles stripped off his clothes and poured a bath, grimacing as the scent of the plant hit his nose and wishing he’d picked a less smelly hobby.   
He didn’t stay in the water long, his bath lasted just long enough to clean off any blood and mask it’s scent on his skin before he was stepping out and drying off. There were light bruises around his wrists and shoulders from where Linden had fought him and a nasty scratch from where he’d caught his arm on a fence post, but all in all he had escaped in a fairly decent condition. Shivering, Stiles remembered one time where his victim had fought back with a knife of their own. That day he’d needed stiches.  
Wrapping a towel around his waist he grabbed his cloths and carried them downstairs to the washer, remembering at the last minute to add a dash of the wolfsbane to the detergent, before turning on the machine and marching back upstairs to his room.

Somehow Scott was still asleep, his snores could be heard almost to the door of Stiles’s room and that made him smile. The fact that his best friend could sleep like the dead even with werewolf hearing really was a blessing that Stiles was grateful for. It had been a life saver on the nights when his dad was home on the nights he really needed to kill, all he’d had to do was ask if he could stay over Scott’s and he had the perfect alibi.  
Now he lay back on his bed and sighed. He was about to lose it all. Everything he’d been building up to was about to be flushed down the toilet and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
But there was a way to survive.  
Stiles had been planning for this for almost as long as he’d been able to understand what would happen if he got caught. Admittedly his plans had changed somewhat since he was a kid, but they’d always had two major, key factors: to finish his work (if he could) and to make it through alive.  
He wasn’t sure what the next day would bring but he was determined to pull off the plan he thought he’d never have to use.

Waking up after three hours sleep is hard for anyone and Stiles was no different. He blinked back into consciousness to Scott standing in his doorway whining that they were going to be late for school.  
“Right, yes school,” he murmured whist scrambling around his borrowed room, throwing on clothes. “You know, you could have woken me up earlier, Scotty boy.”  
Scott simply shrugged and went downstairs to wait by the jeep.  
It was going to be a very long day.

Halfway through physics Stiles’s dad turned up at the door to the classroom. At first he thought that his father was there to arrest him, but he got a shock when his dad politely asked Lydia to go with him for a moment. She didn’t even look his way as she followed his dad out of the room, returning after only a handful of minutes to take her regular seat beside Jackson. It was strange and Stiles was definitely suspicious, yet for some reason it only made him more hopeful that he could make it through the day.  
He blew out a sigh of relief when the lunch bell rang and everyone got out of their seats. Well, Stiles actually felt like belting out the chorus to ‘Living on a Prayer’ but he wasn’t sure if his class mates would get the joke. Mr Harris definitely would have, if those smug little smirks his teacher kept sending his way were anything to go by. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Harris threw a party once he’d been arrested. The guy hated competition- even if it was from one of his students.  
At the lunch table, Stiles plopped down with his tray and practically melted into his chair.  
Of course Allison noticed, “Are you ok Stiles? You seem a little off?”  
“Maybe he heard the news?” Erica offered cheerfully, as if he wasn’t even there.  
He frowned into his… what even was that? Was it mac’n cheese or meat loaf? He didn’t really want to know to be honest. “What news?”  
“Little Red struck again last night,” Isaac sighed before Erica could even start, “he left the body in an alley though, and apparently the cops almost caught him.”  
Stiles saw Jackson’s jaw drop, “You mean he managed to get away before they arrived?”  
Isaac shook his head, “No, I mean they _literally_ almost caught him. There was an on foot chase and he got away.”  
“It’s exciting right?” Erica beamed, “They’ll probably catch him in the next few days and we’ll finally get to find out who this guy is.”  
Exciting probably wasn’t the word Stiles would have used. Sure his state had just gotten rid of the death-penalty but that didn’t mean his life in prison was going to be any more enjoyable. After all, how many people can you kill in prison before they lock you in solitary? Not many was Stiles’s guess.  
“I bet he’s a loner.” Scott said.  
That stung.  
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Stiles replied tensely, just managing to keep the defensiveness out of his tone, “according to the police profile my dad left on the kitchen table one time, Little Red’s probably sociable. Like, the guy blends in well, crazy well.”  
He got a few strange looks at that but his friends probably put it down to stress.

Eventually the conversation moved on and he could input more without having to worry about his heartbeat giving away his identity. It was odd to think that that was probably going to be the last time he got to sit with his friends at lunch. If he could empathize like other people he probably would have cried.  
To his surprise he enjoyed the rest of the day. Though Stiles made an effort to act as normal as he could, even going as far as to go out of his way to pester Danny in the locker room before practice, he didn’t feel the usual boredom that came with social interaction. He simply sat back and enjoyed the network he’d built up around him for the last time, savouring his last day as the wolf in sheep’s clothing.  
Not even the weather could bring him down. It was pouring as he made his way back to his jeep at the end of the day. It was like the skies had opened and heaven itself was crying for him and he smirked at the thought. The only person who would cry for him would probably be his father and that would be for a totally different reason.

A flash of strawberry blonde caught his eye as he drove slowly through town. Slowing down next to the drenched figure he opened his door.  
“Get in!” he yelled over the rain.  
Lydia looked at him skeptically for a moment, as if weighing her options. It wasn’t like he’d never given her a lift home before and, as far as she knew, he didn’t even know that she was testifying.  
“Thank you.” she muttered to him grudgingly as she climbed in.  
“What were you even doing out in this?” he asked, motioning to the torrential downpour taking place on the other side of the windscreen and watching her as she stripped off her wet coat and threw it in the back. “I thought Jackson was picking you up?”  
It took a moment for her to answer. “Jackson was supposed to come and get me, but he was late so I walked. I didn’t think the storm would get this bad.”  
He shrugged, “Fair enough.”

For someone that was so suspicious of him, Lydia was also incredibly trusting. Stiles managed to make it halfway out of town before she realised that they weren’t in fact going back to her house, and tried to escape.   
Banshees were apparently stronger than Stiles thought because the usual blow to the back of the head just pissed her off. It took all of Stiles’s strength to knock her out in the end, and that was after the door being opened and closed three times whilst the jeep was moving and one attempted banshee scream.  
He drove towards the woods at a slow pace, taking the long route to avoid the suspicion of other road users and keeping his unconscious passenger out of view. When Stiles finally got to the end of the road that lead into the preserve, he unloaded Lydia and carried her slowly through the forest until he reached his destination.


	5. The Pieces Fall Into Place

The stream was different than he remembered. Over the years the water had eroded the rocks, making it deeper and veered its direction slightly to the left, but the sound of bubbling water and croaking frogs was the same as it used to be. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought her there to kill her, but it just seemed right.  
Stiles set Lydia down on the gravely bank and used the cord of his black hoodie- he’d purposefully avoided wearing his red one- to bind her wrists tightly behind her back. She was still unconscious but her eyes moved underneath their lids as if she was about to wake up.  
When she finally did open her eyes there was a moment of stillness until the memory of what happened seemed to coming crashing back to her. Stiles had to pin her to the ground as she struggled against his grip.  
“Take it easy, this will go a lot smoother for both of us if you don’t struggle.” He grunted even though it wouldn’t make much difference.  
Lydia chocked back a sob, “Please not again!”  
He paused, confused, “ _Again?_ What the hell are you talking about?”  
She didn’t answer.   
She never did. In all of the time Stiles had known Lydia, she’d ignored him. For all the years he’d kept up his act around her, never slipping, never letting her know what he really was, she’d still treated him like dirt on the bottom of her shoe. Sure, they’d become almost friends in recent months, but that didn’t change or stop the occasional, offended looks she’d send his way.

Anger passed through Stiles, so strong he shook with it. Dragging her half by her hair half by her tied arms, he pulled her to the water and held her there for a second as she thrashed, soaking them both.  
“I’ll miss you.” he murmured, lifting her head before plunging it under the water.  
To give her credit, Lydia tried, she really did. Her head broke the surface twice but Stiles was still stronger and manged to eventually keep her under. After a couple of minutes or so, he loosened his grip as she finally succumbed.  
As the life finally faded from her limbs a feeling of deep satisfaction settle over him. It was more powerful than he was used to and for a moment he needed a moment to adjust. His heart slowed and, even though he’d just struggled through extreme physical exertion, his muscles felt relaxed and well rested. If he didn’t know better he would have said he’d saved the best till last.  
Even though Stiles doubted she was much more resilient than a normal human when it came to drowning, he still kept her in the water for a good half an hour before he finally dragged her back to his car. The feeling of exhilaration seemed to give him the extra strength he needed to shift her deadweight and she was easier to carry than some of the others.

After he’d disposed of the body he drove back across town. It was already dark and the full moon lit up the sky with unusual brilliance. Stiles smirked to himself, his dad couldn’t have chosen a better time to put everything together.  
As far as he was concerned, Lydia was the last of his work and now he was moving onto the next step. He needed to sort out his survival. A boy like him wasn’t going to last long in prison, but he was going to fix that.

Pulling up outside of Derek’s building that late at night was a strange experience. He’d never visited the alpha so late unless it was an emergency and never on a full moon before. He trudged up the stairs and stood outside until the metal door to the loft slid open to reveal Peter wearing a confused expression.  
That confusion however, quickly turned to contemplation as the elder werewolf surveyed him. His clothes were muddy and wet and also a pretty good giveaway as to what he’d just been up to. Stiles fought the urge give a snappy comeback at Peter’s scrutiny and marched past him into the loft, where Derek was perched on the couch with a plate of leftover Chinese food from the other night.  
“Stiles,” Derek asked, fork halfway to his mouth, “what are you doing here?”  
“I want the bite.” Stiles announced.   
No point in dancing around the truth.  
Derek’s eyes opened almost comically wide. “No you don’t.”  
“Yes, I do.” He said surly, not even slightest hint of a wobble in his voice, which made him feel oddly proud of himself. “You can tell I’m not lying, Derek.”  
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” the alpha muttered looking at him with a more serious expression, probably listening to Stiles’s heartbeat and trying to find a lie there.  
Stiles’s carefully planned reply was ruined by Peter, who popped up next to him. “He knows exactly what he’s asking for. He’s asking for what he turned down when I was alpha.”  
Derek glared at his uncle, “You offered Stiles the bite?”  
“He would have made an excellent beta to me then.” Peter shrugged. And he was right. They would have made a great alpha/beta duo, but Stiles didn’t need the hassle of lycanthropy and all its issues back then. “He lied to me when he said he didn’t want it.”

If Stiles didn’t know any better he would have said that Derek looked at his uncle hopefully. Stiles knew how the werewolves in front of him were raised and it probably wasn’t that far from the truth.  
Both Derek and Peter had been brought up with the view that expending the pack was vital and that any humans in the pack should usually be turned. It was why Peter had convinced his nephew to get Page turned and why Derek’s first reaction, when he became alpha, was to turn a small gang of teenagers.   
They both thought of the bite as a gift and Stiles knew how highly they thought of him- even if neither of them liked to show it on a regular basis.

“But you’re sure you want it now?” Derek turned back to him.   
Stiles steeled himself as the alpha’s eyes turned red. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Waking up on Derek’s couch was a little strange for Stiles. Everything was too sharp, too loud and too bright… he loved it. The rush of power beneath his skin was better than anything he’d ever felt before.  
Sitting upright he looked around the loft. It was empty apart from Peter, who was perched on the stairs, absently typing on his laptop. The elder werewolf looked up when Stiles stirred but went straight back to typing.   
“I see you’re finally up then?” he asked without taking his eyes off of the screen.  
Stiles blinked at him for a second, “Uh, yeah. So… how was I last night?”  
Peter finally shut his laptop. “You don’t remember? Well, I can safely say that you have more control than any beta I’ve ever met. The only time you shifted last night was during your transformation and even that was quite brief.”  
It made sense. Stiles was so used to controlling himself- using his own freedom as an anchor- that it was probably only a short jump to controlling lycanthropy. He could remember bits and pieces, like being bitten, the pain of the transformation and then the pull of the full moon that was so very much like the itch under his skin that he’d had for most of his life.  
Noticing Stiles’s pause, Peter continued. “Although, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t surprised.” The elder werewolf put his laptop on the stair next to him. “So, now that you have what you came for, what are you going to do next, Little Red?”

At the sound of his alias Stiles was out of his seat and across the room before he could make a rational thought. He stood at the foot of the stairs and glared up at Peter, “What did you call me?”  
“Don’t look at me like that. You knew that I knew.” Peter snorted, “Things must have gotten dire for you to ask for the bite though. What happened? Did daddy catch you red handed?”  
Stiles just shook his head and took a step backwards, killing Peter wouldn’t solve anything. “Close enough,” he replied slowly, backing towards the door. Derek wasn’t in the loft but Stiles knew he wouldn’t be gone long, “I’ll see you around.”  
“No,” Peter rolled his eyes, “you won’t.”  
“Yeah, probably not…”


	6. A Web Unravelled

The sound of hundreds of teens bustling around busy corridors was almost enough to drive Stiles insane as he walked through the school doors. He’d wished to high heavens that his last free day wouldn’t be a school one, but fate had been cruel as it turned out.  
Turning the corner and heading to physics he almost sighed. How Scott and the others put up with this commotion everyday was beyond him. It seemed impossible to imagine that anyone with the senses he possessed could concentrate in such an environment, but he still made his way to physics anyway, well prepared for the day’s events. However they turned out…

Jackson’s jaw almost hit the desk when Stiles walked into Mr Harris’s room. The few members of the pack in that class all turned their attention to him as he made his way to his usual seat, ignoring their scrutiny.  
“What the hell, Stiles?” Scott hissed under his breath.  
“Don’t worry, dude,” Stiles replied reassuringly, not even bothering to turn his head, “I wanted this.”  
He could feel Scott’s eyes boring into his skull for a moment. “You know… a little warning would have been nice.”  
Stiles sighed and nodded, “That it would, scotty boy, that it would.”

In the end his arrest was every bit as dramatic as Stiles thought it would be. Agent McCall entered the class with a few of the sheriff’s deputies in tow. Stiles wasn’t surprised when they marched right up to his desk and pulled him forcefully from his chair.  
“Mr Stilinski you’re under arrest for the murders of Floyd Payton, Danielle Turning, Lucy Skingle,” Stiles turned to watch the rest of the class as Scott’s dad read off the list of his victims. Everyone seemed too shocked to say anything, though. Nobody moved a muscle as he was handcuffed and pushed forwards against his physics textbook. Agent McCall finished reciting the list of names dutifully, “Caren Maxwell and, last but not least, Linden Moraine. You have the right to remain silent, anything you…”  
“Yeah, dude,” Stiles said around his mouthful of textbook, “I know my rights.”  
Agent McCall pressed his face further into the desk, “…say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”  
“Dad, what the hell?” Scott yelled as he came out his daze. Stiles was almost proud of him. Even if his best friend was a little slow sometimes, the werewolf was always loyal to the end. Man’s best friend. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
“Stay out of this, scotty.” Stiles whispered at the same times as Agent McCall said, “This is none of your concern, Scott.”

The rest of the pack was still sitting dumbstruck, there was no way they hadn’t recognised the list of names and already put together the pieces. By now, at least a few of them had probably figured out that it was Little Red getting handcuffed in front of the whole class.  
With one last shove into the desk Stiles was unceremoniously picked up and dragged out of the room. He took one last look around and caught Mr Harris’s horrified expression- there was real fear in his teacher’s eyes and it made Stiles pause momentarily. Had he been wrong about Harris? Had Harris really not known about him? No one could fake that level of terror…  
Along the corridor students peeked out from classroom windows, eager to get a glimpse of the commotion outside. It was only a short walk, but Stiles still felt like he was being put under a spot light. Come that evening the whole town would know just who he really was and what he did in his spare time.  
Still though, Stiles smirked, it had been a good run. Not many killers were given the chance to finish their work before the police come knocking and he’d had more than enough time to put up a safety net for himself as well. Not that he was going to give up easily, oh no, but at least he knew he’d survive whatever was thrown at him.

They left Stiles in the interrogation room for _an hour_ when they got to the station, which annoyed him to no end. It was probably a ploy by agent McCall to get him bored- to get him to open up more. But if Rafe had actually bothered talking to his dad, the agent would know that Stiles was patient, deathly patient, when he wanted to be.  
So, instead of taking it personally, Stiles sat contemplating his options. Either he pleaded innocent or he caved and told them everything. He really didn't want to be one of those killers who clammed up and refused to say anything, his dad didn't raise him that way and, personally, Stiles found killers who did that childish. If you can't talk about it you shouldn't be doing it.  
In the end he settled on waiting to see what the police had on him before making the decision. A jury could forgive quite a lot if he had some wiggle room. Sure he'd been caught breaking out of Melissa's house that one time, but he still had reasonably solid alibis for at least a few of the nights he'd been out indulging himself.  
He was forced out of his thinking though, when Agent McCall finally came into the room holding a sleek little tape recorder.  
It was only after setting up the recording and stating the date and time, did the agent even look at him. McCall looked tired, Stiles would give him that, but he supposed that investigating your son's best friend does that to a person.

Stiles waited patiently for the agent to start with the questioning but when none came, he grew impatient.  
“I swear to you,” He said slowly, “it’s not what it looks like.”  
That made the agent smile, “You can skip the act. We found your scrapbooks, Stiles, and we have your DNA collected from three separate crime scenes. We’ve got enough evidence to put you away for the rest of your life.”  
Stiles gulped in pretend nervousness, it was time to start his counter argument. He raised his cuffed hands in front of him for emphasis as he started to speak in typical Stiles fashion, “I’m the son of _the sheriff_ , dude! If there’s a serial killer on the loose in Beacon Hills I’m gonna wanna catch the guy. Look… I know it looks bad but the journals were my own way of processing the case, I was trying to get into Little Red’s head. Don’t tell me you’ve never had to do that before, ok? I know how the FBI works.”  
“So you say you were trying to solve the case?” Agent McCall asked carefully, as if he found that amusing. It was actually pretty funny to Stiles too, but he wasn’t going to tell the agent why. “That doesn’t explain the fact that there were things in those journals that weren’t released to the public or how your DNA ended up at three crime scenes.”  
Stiles grimaced and rubbed a hand through his hair, his fake-tell for guilt. “Well that first one is just plain obvious.” When McCall just looked at him blankly, he continued. “I’ve been hacking into the station’s computer system since I got my first computer. And as for the DNA… ok, I was at the crime scenes.”  
“So you admit to being there?” the agent leant forward.  
Stiles rubbed his hair again, pretending to stop himself halfway through, “Yes, ok? I’ve been getting close to finding him, but every time I get there it’s always too late. The victim is always gone and, I don’t know, I just don’t know what to do.”  
McCall actually seemed too stunned for words for a moment, but he snapped out of it quickly. “If any of that’s true why didn’t you take what you had to the police?”  
“Because,” Stiles said with a huff, “I knew exactly this would happen.”


	7. How Not To Get Away With Murder

They went back and forth for a while but Stiles always had an answer, he made sure of it.   
“Why were you out the night before last?”   
“Because I knew Little Red needed to take someone again and Beacon Hills seemed to be the most likely place he would do it.”  
“Why did you have a knife in your bag that matches the one used by Little Red?”  
“Because it’s the only knife the hardware store sells and dad happened to have one in the garage when I was looking for something to defend myself.”  
“What was in the bag of powder that was found among the other items in your bag?”   
“Monkshood, mom used to say it kept bad dreams away.”  
“Where were you on the nights of January 20th, April 3rd and August 8th?”  
“Well, I know I was with Scott for at least two of those nights.”  
“When was the last time you saw Lydia Martin?”  
That one made Stiles pause. He let his eyes go wide and his breathing stutter as he stared at the agent. “Yesterday, I offered her a lift back to her place because it was raining.”  
McCall lent forward again, “But you didn’t take her home did you Stiles? We have a witness that says she saw Miss Martin climbing into your jeep but none that say they saw her ever arriving home. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you took her into the woods and killed her, like you were planning to do the first time.”  
“I don’t care what you think because it’s not the truth.” Stiles said defensively, “I dropped Lydia off a few blocks from her house because she asked to be. To be perfectly honest she’d been acting weird… _wait what did you say_?”

Stiles’s mind went blank. ‘ _The first time_ ’, what had he meant by that? Hadn’t Lydia said something similar? It didn’t make sense, none of Stiles victims had ever escaped. He’d made sure all of his victims always died. Not once in all of his years killing had someone ever lived to tell the story.  
His mind started racing and his throat felt tight as he looked back up at the agent across from him, but he refused to give the agent the satisfaction of asking about the suggested attack. It was a trap and he knew it.   
“ _Lydia’s missing_?” he asked instead, allowing his real panic to raise his tone, “When was she last seen?”  
“She was last seen getting into your car.” McCall answered, watching Stiles’s face with an intensity that would cause a lesser criminal to crumble.  
Stiles put his head in his hands, “I thought she would be safe. I only dropped her off a few blocks from her house and he’d only killed the night before so I thought she’d be safe.” He looked up. “You have to find her before it’s too late.”  
There was a brief pause as agent McCall took in his reaction. “Did you know Miss Martin was testifying against you Stiles? She was going to stand in the witness box and tell the jury how you tried to kill her.”  
“But I didn’t try to kill her.” Stiles said. “I lov… I liked her. She was my friend, I would never have hurt her. You would have known that if you’d payed more attention, agent _McClueless_.”  
The agent ignored his fake anger and tilted his head. “She was probably your first, wasn’t she? But you didn’t know she survived, that she held her breath and went limp in the water so you’d think she was dead.”

His first reaction was to put it down to Lydia’s banshee powers picking up the girl’s last movements, but it made sense when Stiles thought about it more. The way Lydia had avoided him like he was the plague when they first started school, the little looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking, the words she’d pleaded to him ‘Please not again!’   
It clicked then.   
She was Lydia Martin.  
The girl he’d killed- or at least thought he’d killed- at the stream had been called Lydia, and the fact that he’d been subconsciously supressing that piece of information for years made Stiles’s stomach churn. Sure she’d only moved to Beacon hills in 8th grade, but that was no excuse for him not recognising her, his supposed first kill, straight away. Stiles was officially the worst serial killer in history.

Somehow Stiles managed to keep the realisation off of his face and stop his eyes from flashing for long enough that, after a few more questions which Stiles gave all the right answers to, McCall got up and turned off the recorder, signalling that they were taking a break.  
Stiles watched him leave the room and close the door. He could still hear everything that was going on outside but he didn’t let himself show that, turning his head away and staring intently at the wall instead.  
He heard McCall’s voice first which didn’t surprise him, but what the agent said did. “I think he’s telling the truth John.”  
Stiles’s dad sighed. “I would too if I didn’t know better.”  
“He’s too much like you,” McCall said after a few seconds passed, “but, if you really think he’s guilty there is a way to know for sure.”  
His dad caught his breath, it was too quiet for a normal human to hear, but Stiles heard it just fine even from within the interrogation room. “What do you mean?”  
“When I was chasing Little Red he caught his arm on a fence post, the post was too contaminated to get DNA from but if he is our killer he’ll have a pretty nasty mark.” McCall explained, sounding all too smug with himself.  
It was a shame Stiles was about to get away with multiple counts of murder.

Sure enough the first thing McCall did when he re-entered the room was to pull up Stiles’s shirt. Of course there was nothing there though, and the agent let his confusion show on his face for a moment before letting Stiles go and leaving the room again- probably to check that there was actually blood on the fence post and that he hadn’t imagined it.  
McCall came in and out through the rest of the day, offering bathroom breaks and food in return for information, not that they could have kept those things from him, but Stiles guessed the agent was getting impatient. It was well past six in the afternoon when the door opened and someone Stiles really hadn’t expected to see walked through the door of the interrogation room.  
Scott stood there for a second, as if he didn’t know what to do, before walking slowly over and sitting down opposite him.   
Stiles studied his best friend before offering a tentative smile. “You guys found the killer yet? I’m depending on you, you know?”  
Scott actually looked like he wanted to cry. “How could you Stiles? How could you do that to so many people?”  
“Scott,” Stiles said slowly, “listen to me, you have to look after my dad. He’s not gonna be taking this well.”  
“Of course he’s not taking this well, _you’re a serial killer Stiles_! My mum actually fainted when she found out.” Scott half shouted at him.  
“Buddy-” he tried but was cut off. Scott was upset and when that happened Stiles didn’t have a chance of getting a word in edgeways.

After what seemed like forever of his best friend lecturing him on morals and how his actions hurt the people he ‘loves’, Stiles had had just about enough of listening. He ducked his head to flash his eyes at his friend without the camera seeing.  
“Hear me out, Scott.” He said, tapping his hand against his chest to signal that he wanted his friend to listen to his heartbeat.  
Scott watched him warily, but let him continue.  
“I didn’t murder anyone,” _I slaughtered them_ , Stiles finished in his head. It was a dirty trick, but one that he’d learned stopped his heartbeat from stuttering- cheating his friend into thinking he was telling the truth.  
Scott’s eyes bulged before narrowing critically. “If you didn’t kill anybody though, why are your eyes blue?”

That made him pause. He looked up at Scott and rubbed a hand through his hair, he hadn’t factored blue eyes into his plan. It was one of the flaws in his grand scheme and he needed a second to think about it before answering.  
“I…” he fake-chocked, “it’s because of my mom.”  
Stiles watched as his friend’s expression softened exponentially. Scott knew that Stiles felt responsible for his mother’s death, he’d mentioned it a couple of times since the guy had been turned. Sure it was only a half-truth, but it was enough to fool anyone with super-human hearing. In fact, Stiles himself could hear Scott’s heart begging to slow and see the smile begging to spread across his friend’s lips.   
Scott though he was innocent.


	8. That Sinking Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Stiles locked up in a cell I thought I would change the perspective for the last chapter. This last installment tells Sheriff Stilinski’s side of the story and how he worked to keep his son behind bars. I hope you don’t mind the sudden change...

Sheriff Stilinski wasn’t an idiot, he knew any involvement he had in the case would cause a problem in court. So when Rafe had made him a consultant on the case, it was safe to say he’d been surprised. John had already spent days telling McCall everything he knew about his son. There wasn’t much he could tell the FBI that he hadn’t already given them.  
He’d told the agent about every detail, from the cat Stiles had killed when he was a kid, to the events of the day Lydia Martin was attacked. He'd been a work that day, so Stiles had been staying with a nanny, playing outside on his bike. When Lydia had pointed the finger at Stiles after the incident John had denied that there was any way Stiles could have been involved, saying the nanny had kept a close eye on Stiles for the whole day, even though he knew she probably hadn’t. He shared how he’d noticed the way Stiles had started going through his case files after that incident, watching the news and suddenly pretending to be interested in John’s work.  
To further the case, the sheriff had even taken a team of deputies and searched his own house while Stiles was staying over Scott’s, producing a small stack of scrapbooks which were damning evidence on their own.  
And yet, even after all that, Rafe still wanted more from him.

After nearly three hours of solid discussion, he’d somehow talked McCall out of going straight after his son. He knew Stiles and he knew that if they tried to make a move without enough evidence to convince a jury already in place, his son would clam up and refuse to give them anything.  
It was really all his fault that Stiles had killed Linden, and John knew it. He was going to go to sleep each night with that kid’s face burned into his eyelids and there was nothing he could do to chance that… other than making sure his son was locked up of course. Even if it took him till his last breath, sheriff Stilinski was determined to see his son put behind bars for good.  
Watching his son be dragged into the station had been hard. He’d advised Rafe against leaving him alone for so long- Stiles was more than patient when he wanted to be- but the agent had refused to listen to him that time.   
Eventually, when McCall finally deemed Stiles ready, John sat behind the screen with the rest of his deputies and watched as his son was interrogated. It both surprised and worried him that Stiles chose to plead innocent. His excuses were solid and John knew deep in his bones that it would be hard to pin even solid evidence to Stiles. It was vital to get Scott on their side, otherwise Stiles would have an unlimited supply of alibies.

(A Few Hours Later) 

Alcohol, that was what John needed. After what he’d just heard his son tell Scott and what Scott had asked him return, he wasn’t sure he could make it to his office, but he made it there and to his hidden bottle of jack before collapsing into his chair.  
Blue eyes… Scott had said Stiles’s eyes were blue. His son was a werewolf. That was why the scratch he’d gotten when Rafe had chased him was gone.  
John could feel his pulse rocket as dread made him feel sick. He wasn’t sure how his son had managed to lie convincingly enough to fool Scott, but the fact that he could, meant that their case might slowly fall apart.  
He tried going through it all in his head. Yes, his son claimed he was at Scott’s for a few of the nights, but he’d already been caught sneaking out. Even if he tried to pull the ‘I was at my friend’s’ excuse, the alibi wasn’t as stable as he thought it was.  
And then there was the part about him trying to ‘solve’ the case. Stiles was a smart kid, he’d probably known that this would happen sooner or later and prepared for it. It was true that everything in his journals could be found on the police data base or in his files, and it was also true that Stiles interfered with his cases a lot. With the right defence lawyer, Stiles could do a lot of damage with that argument.  
John slowly sank back further into his chair. His case wasn’t dead yet but, either way, there would be hell to pay before it was over. Stiles was smart and there was no way that kid hadn’t thought of every possibility. Even becoming a werewolf had probably been part his son’s plan…

McCall had been in and out of interviewing his son but other than that nobody really moved. It wasn’t until about an hour after Scott left that there was any real activity in the station. Deputies were suddenly hurrying back and forth, putting on jackets and strapping weapons to their sides, but Sheriff Stilinski couldn’t bring himself to check and see what was going on. If they needed him someone would come and get him. John had had one too many drinks to really care.  
Of course it was Rafe that came to inform him of the situation. John’s career may have been headed into a downward spiral, but he was still sheriff and it was still his responsibility to make sure the town was safe. 

And that was how John found himself looking down at a young red-head with her throat slit from ear to ear. The kid was small, barely out of her pre-teens, with hair so red that its colour barely changed when saturated with blood. Her deep brown eyes stared up at the evening sky, frozen in fear.  
He struggled to keep himself upright. The picture didn’t fit. Stiles was behind bars, and yet here was another victim that appeared to have been killed in the same way as Linden. Sheriff Stilinski noted that, judging by the angle of he wound, it had been inflicted by someone about Stiles's height.   
According to the eye witness (a homeless guy who’d been on the street at the time), the perp matched Stiles’s height and wore the same tatty red hoodie. Unfortunately the CCTV footage confirmed his story, the killer’s face wasn’t visible but they looked and moved a lot like Stiles. The figure even had the tear on their hoodie sleeve from the fence post.  
John was starting to wonder if it was no coincidence that they hadn’t found Stiles’s hoodie when they searched his son’s things. Had someone taken it?

“I know it’s hard for you to accept this, John, but it looks like we caught the wrong guy.” McCall said, coming up behind him.  
John wasn’t about to give up that easily. He straightened and turned to face the agent, “Oh, _come on Rafe_ , you can’t really think that. It’s not consistent with the way Little Red operates. Red rarely gets himself caught on CCTV and never leaves a body. The only reason we found Lindon was because he was interrupted.”  
“So you think this is a copycat, someone who’s trying to get Stiles a ’get out of jail free’ card?” McCall said wearily, “Where’s your proof of that John? For all we know, our killer could have changed their style. They could have gotten a taste for the limelight and decided to start leaving bodies.”  
“But…” John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was so much evidence against Stiles and they were thinking about letting him _go_? “We never found Stiles’s hoodie with his things; this guy could have taken it and is using it to try and free Stiles. If we let Stiles go now we may never catch him again!” It wasn’t like him to shout, but the agent was really pushing him. His son was guilty and it was looking more and more likely that his old friend couldn’t see that.  
“Enough,” McCall snapped, “go home, John. You're no longer needed on the case. If there's anything we need, we'll call you.”

The drive home wasn’t long but John needed it to try and clear his head. His whiskey had long worn off and there was nothing to slow his racing thoughts. Just as he’d feared, everything he had worked so hard for was crumbling at its foundations.  
Stiles was probably already free by now. A serial killing werewolf was free on the streets and there was nothing John could do about it… but he knew someone who could. He turned the car around sharply, almost crashing into a passing vehicle as he did. He didn’t care how he looked anymore. He was a desperate man.  
There was one guy he knew that could take care of Stiles once and for all. John didn’t have it in him to kill his own family, but there was no denying that Stiles had become a monster. If someone didn’t stop him, Stiles would continue to kill until his last breath. His son was a sociopath who had killed his mother and countless others over the years, feeling no remorse, no guilt, only pleasure over his victims.

Lucky for him though, there were people out there who spent their spare time killing monsters for sport.

John walked up to the Argent’s polished front door and, when it opened, uttered just three words.   
“Kill my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written so that I could maybe write a sequel. It depends on the feedback this one receives as to whether or not I do though...


End file.
